


Imagine: Castiel bringing a turkey back to the bunker for Thanksgiving dinner (ft. grumpy Dean Winchester).

by webcricket



Series: Castiel Imagines [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Friendship, Humor, Thanksgiving, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 01:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12806973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket





	Imagine: Castiel bringing a turkey back to the bunker for Thanksgiving dinner (ft. grumpy Dean Winchester).

Dean’s drowsy green eyes skimmed the headlines of the newspaper he held folded over in one hand as he ambled through the bunker’s map room on route to the library. He brought a steaming mug of coffee to his lips as he neared the threshold.  
“Gobble, gobble, _gobble_.”  
Brow lifting in surprise, bodily flinching, he spat out the unswallowed sip of coffee and cast his alarmed attention toward the noise. He stood frozen in place except for the grey hem of the MoL robe gently swaying around his bowed knees and the mug slowly slanting sideways in his grip to dribble hot black liquid down his clenched fist and onto to the floor.  
The generously sized turkey occupying a table top and wooing a lamp thereon with his sexy strut and flattering fluff of colorful plumage scolded the human once again for interrupting his amorous affair with the golden-hued light, “Gobble, gobble, _gobble_!”  
“What the-?” Dean took an involuntary step backward, peering around the room, eyes flashing irately in search of an explanation. When one did not immediately present itself, he bellowed, “Cas!” He reasoned neither you nor his brother could be responsible for something this ridiculous.  
“Gobble,” the turkey bobbed, bright red snood waggling, all but affirming Dean’s theory of angelic involvement.  
The angel appeared at Dean’s side, questioning regard flitting between his friend’s bewildered brow and the coffee spattering on his slippers.  
“Ow!” Dean hissed, realizing the scalding liquid was burning his hand. He transferred the mug to his newspaper wielding grasp and shook out the wounded appendage.  
Cas watched in apathetic blue silence.  
“What’s, uh-” Dean wagged his grimacing jaw at the bird, moderating his annoyance through gritted teeth as he spoke. “Why the hell is there a live turkey in the library?”  
Cas peered into the aforementioned room, steady unblinking gaze alighting for a moment on the fine-feathered intruder and then drifting back to Dean. He cocked his head, flatly answering, “It appears he found the warm ambiance of the library more comfortable than that of the kitchen.”  
Dean’s lips pressed into a thin line. He brought a pointed finger into the air between himself and the angel and closed his eyes, clarifying, “Why-why is there a turkey in the fricking bunker?!”  
“Oh,” Cas’ gaze dropped to look guiltily at his feet as he shifted his weight nervously from one to the other. “They, uh, they were out of frozen ones at the store.”  
Dean began to nod and massage his chin.  
“On account of the holiday,” Cas added in his defense.  
“And so,” Dean made a minute waving gesture at the bird so as not to ruffle him further, “you figured this was practically the same thing?”  
The angel shrugged, daring a furtive glance up. “Both the fowl and Y/N vehemently protested when I suggested that we prepare and eat him for dinner. It seems she isn’t interested in consuming, as she says, _a living breathing creature that has looked her directly in the eyes_. And you can’t begin to imagine how the turkey feels about the proposition.”  
“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” Dean grumbled. He shoved the now coffee-stained newspaper beneath his arm and spun toward the hall to head in the direction of the kitchen muttering a choice sequence of expletives under his breath and swearing he’d have the angel’s head and pluck and roast him for dinner if he’d managed to screw up the pies too.  
“Gobble,” the turkey sympathetically offered when Dean was gone, beady aspect fixed on the angel, in commentary of human’s foul mood.  
“You’re telling me,” Cas puffed in agreement.


End file.
